A Hot Montana Summer Read online

  “No, you’re certainly not,” she agreed.

  The undisguised approval in her tone was so clear, Jamie started to blush. He cast around desperately for a safer topic.

  “That’s an impressive set of wheels,” he said, indicating the car. “Is it a celebration gift to yourself, or the spoils of war?”

  Rachel glanced at the silver sports car, and her mouth curved in a rueful smile. “Deke gave me the car just before we split—it was supposed to be a birthday gift, but in retrospect I think it was actually a guilt-gift. Anyway, we have a house—had a house—in Jackson Hole. We kept the car there, so when I flew into Wyoming yesterday, I picked it up. I spent last night in Bozeman, and drove the rest of the way this morning.”

  A home in Jackson Hole.

  A Porsche Carrera.

  Jamie felt a little stunned. He knew Deke Narducci was wealthy; he was heir to the Narducci shipping and cruise lines, after all, but he hadn’t given much thought to just how filthy rich the guy really was. Deke was mostly famous for hanging out with other famous people on his luxury yacht, or for being seen at popular celebrity events, or vacationing in exotic locales. Jamie had always written him off as an entitled playboy. But seeing evidence of his lavish lifestyle—one Rachel had shared—made him realize they came from completely different worlds. He couldn’t begin to compete.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  Jamie jerked his attention back to Rachel, who studied him with a small frown. He shook his head. “Nah. I was just thinking it must be hard coming back to this, after what you’ve been used to with Deke.”

  Rachel looked around, as if seeing the neighborhood for the first time. “Actually,” she said, “it feels really good. I’d forgotten how green everything is, and how good the air smells. I’ve missed being home.”

  “So you’re not going back to New York?”

  “Maybe just to clear out my apartment, but I don’t think I’ll live there again.”

  Jamie tried to contain his grin, and failed.

  She stared at him as if mesmerized, then made a vague gesture toward the house with one hand. “I should probably go in, say hello to my parents, you know…get settled.”

  Jamie nodded. “Right. I should get back, too. It was great seeing you, Rachel.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “We should do it again soon.” Realizing what she said, she shook her head and gave an embarrassed laugh. “I mean, I hope to see you again soon.” Clearly flustered, she gave him a quick smile. But before she turned away, she gave him one last, all-encompassing look, as if she couldn’t quite help herself. This time, there was no mistaking the admiration in her eyes, before she abruptly spun away and all but ran into the house.

  And just like that, Jamie was back in the game.

  He swung his crutches in the direction of his parents’ house, amazed at how, in the space of mere minutes, the town of Glacier Creek had just gotten a whole lot more exciting.

  Chapter Two

  Rachel stood at the window of the first-floor guest bedroom and stared across the street at the Colter house, but Jamie was nowhere to be seen. Disgusted with herself for even looking, she turned away. She was acting like a smitten teenager, but she couldn’t stop thinking about their earlier encounter. Had that muscular slab of sexiness really been skinny little Jamie Colter? She pictured again the broad shoulders and washboard abs, and the biceps that looked as if he could easily bench press a small car. She’d noted the new, raw scar on his abdomen that had disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. The only things that hadn’t changed about Jamie Colter were his blue eyes and his audacious grin.

  She recalled again how he had looked at her. She’d registered the surprise in his expression, but hadn’t expected the blatantly masculine perusal that had followed, or her own improbable reaction. She’d blushed like a schoolgirl, and the heat of his gaze on her skin had been like a palpable caress. She’d been celibate for way too long if she was fantasizing about a guy she hadn’t seen since he was a scrawny teenager, and was way too young for her even if she was interested.

  Which she wasn’t.

  Definitely not.

  She knew all about younger men, having been married to one for five years. Well, three years if she wanted to get technical. They hadn’t lived together for the last two years of the marriage.

  Just thinking about Deke made her hands close into fists. How had their marriage gone so wrong? In the beginning, it had seemed like the stuff of fairy tales, and he’d made her feel like a princess. He’d given her everything, denied her nothing.

  Rachel had been part of a team of professionals, hired by Deke to manage every aspect of his privileged life. But after just a few days in his company, he’d made it clear he wanted her. He’d pursued her with a single-minded determination that didn’t end, even after he’d left New York. No one could blame her for being swept up in the romance of it all.

  Deke had been so wonderful, so charming, so intent on making her happy. And he had. Not just with the extravagant gestures and gifts he’d lavished on her, but with his full and undivided attention, as if the sun rose and set on her.

  When Elite Concierge Services had finally let her go, stating she had violated company rules by becoming involved with a client, Deke had promised to make it right. He’d flown her to the Maldives for two weeks, where he’d asked her to marry him, despite the fact they’d only been dating for six weeks.

  It hadn’t mattered that he was only twenty-five to her twenty-eight. They’d had so much fun together, and his energy had been boundless. Despite the fact his family claimed she was only interested in his money, Rachel had found Deke’s charm and humor to be his most appealing attributes. Why else would she have signed the prenup? She just hadn’t realized he was more interested in the chase than he was in the relationship.

  Once they were actually married, his interest had quickly waned. Deke had started to travel without her, telling her she’d be happier remaining at home. Only they hadn’t had a home, not really. Deke had owned houses and apartments all over the world, but none of them had felt like home. As he’d traveled—to movie premieres, parties, and lavish fund-raisers—she’d remained behind at his luxury apartment in New York City.

  When the first photos of Deke with other women had appeared on the covers of tabloid magazines, and on entertainment channels, he’d insisted the paparazzi were just trying to make trouble for him. Rachel had believed him.

  But the photos of him with other women became more frequent and more lurid, and she and Deke began spending more time apart than they did together. Rachel acknowledged her own part in the failure of the marriage; his extended absences had bothered her less and less. She wanted more in her life than an absentee husband, and a constant stream of parties with people she neither knew nor especially liked.

  Finally, Rachel had moved out of his apartment. She’d determinedly found another job in the personal concierge business, even though it had meant starting at the bottom again. But when Deke didn’t answer her calls or respond to her messages, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the marriage was over via a text message, so she’d flown to his oceanfront villa in California, where she knew he was staying.

  The Los Angeles mansion had been filled with people—supermodels and socialites and various celebrities—and Deke had seemed surprised but unenthusiastic to see Rachel. She’d asked to speak to him privately, but he’d insisted whatever she needed to say could be said in front of his friends. When she told him she wanted a divorce, he’d gone quiet. At first, Rachel had thought he seemed surprised, but then realized he was angry and embarrassed.

  He’d accused her of overreacting, claiming the marriage had failed because of her. He’d said some other things, too. Hurtful things, meant to embarrass and humiliate her in front of his assembled friends. Things she couldn’t help but wonder were true. Two years had passed since she’d seen Deke, but the memories of that day were still raw.

  She was so done with you
nger, good-looking men.

  Which was why she wasn’t going to so much as look at a guy like Jamie Colter in that way ever again. If she did decide to get married again—and that was a huge if—she’d look for an older, settled man who would appreciate her and all she had to offer. She wouldn’t go near a guy like Jamie Colter, no matter how drop-dead sexy he might be.

  Pushing away the disturbing memory of Jamie’s broad shoulders, honed chest and small, flat nipples, she turned her attention to unpacking the suitcase that lay open on her bed. Scattered on the bedspread were her toiletries and other essentials she had grabbed before fleeing New York City and everything it represented. Eventually, she’d have to go back. She still needed to move her belongings out of her apartment. The small studio in Brooklyn was a far cry from the luxurious penthouse in Manhattan, where she and Deke had lived together during the early months of their married life, but it had suited Rachel just fine.

  “Hey, kiddo…are you doing okay?”

  Rachel raised her head to see her mother, Diane, standing in the doorway. Rachel shrugged and gave a wan smile. “As well as can be expected. Thanks for letting me move back in until I figure out what I’m going to do.”

  “This is your home, and you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. I hope you don’t mind staying in the guest room. Your grandparents can’t do the stairs when they come to visit, and I turned your old bedroom into a sewing room years ago.”

  “Honestly, Mom, I don’t mind where I sleep. You could put me in a tent in the backyard, and I’d be happy.”

  Her mother came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to go back to New York?”

  “No!” Rachel exclaimed, and realized it was true. She’d lived on the East Coast since she’d graduated college, twelve years earlier. After graduation, she’d worked as a hotel concierge in New York City, before branching out as a personal concierge, working for a global company, which was how she’d met Deke.

  “There’s nothing left for me back there, and it’s time I moved on. I thought I’d take some time off, and then maybe open an office in the Monterey or Santa Barbara area, since the business is exploding right now. There must be some celebrities who need a personal concierge. Or maybe I’ll just cater to busy moms; they’re at least grateful for the extra help.”

  “What about your job in New York?”

  “I’m quitting.” Rachel grimaced and sat down next to her mother. “I don’t want to risk running into Deke, or any of his friends. I think it’s better if I just leave, and start over. Again.”

  “Oh, honey.” Her mother wrapped her in a comforting hug. “It just goes to show money can’t buy you love. You deserve so much better than Deke Narducci, even with his millions.”

  Silently, Rachel agreed. Deke’s trust fund had ensured a lavish lifestyle filled with luxury homes and expensive cars, but she doubted he had ever truly loved her. She pulled away from her mother’s embrace. “Well, it’s over now. Once I sell the car, I’ll be able to pay you some rent.”

  Her mother’s face registered surprise. “Didn’t you get a divorce settlement?”

  Rachel looked away, embarrassed. “Deke had an ironclad prenup, Mom, that basically denied me anything if we divorced before we had kids. I loved him, so I didn’t care. I never thought the marriage would end like it did. He gave me the car just before we separated, so it’s legally mine and worth quite a bit of money. He can keep the rest; I have no interest in his stupid trust fund, or anything else that belongs to him.”

  “Of course not. You’ll be fine.” Her mother smiled brightly. “In fact, I’ve already found a client for you.”

  “Oh?” Rachel braced herself. Her mother performed volunteer work at a nearby senior center, and Rachel wouldn’t put it past her to try and drum up some business with the elderly residents.

  “Do you remember Sharon Colter’s son, Jamie?”

  Rachel stared at her mother in disbelief. “No, Mom—”

  Her mother raised a hand to forestall Rachel’s protest. “Just hear me out. He’s in the Marines, and he’s home recovering from a badly broken leg and some other injuries. We booked our cruise with the Colters months ago, long before Jamie was injured. I know Sharon is beside herself at the thought of leaving him alone for two weeks, since he’s unable to drive or get around, and I think it would be a perfect solution if you could look out for him while we’re gone. You could bring him to his doctor appointments, pick up some groceries and beer for him, that sort of thing.”

  “Mom,” Rachel groaned, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  Her mother looked bemused. “Why not? It’s only for two weeks. Sharon is willing to pay you for your time, and I know Jamie would appreciate the help.” She smiled fondly. “He’s such a sweet boy.”

  Images of Jamie, bare-chested and supremely muscled, flashed through Rachel’s mind. Sweet boy was hardly how she would describe him. Sexy beast, maybe. Hot stud, definitely. The guy was freaking gorgeous, and his smile did things to her equilibrium that scared the hell out of her. His voice alone caused shivers to chase their way along her spine. There was no way she wanted to be at his beck and call for the next two weeks, especially if he was in the habit of walking around in nothing but a pair of workout shorts.

  “Where is Dylan when you need him?” she muttered. If her brother were home, she could argue he should keep an eye on Jamie, since the two had been best friends since forever.

  “Dylan has a full-time job,” her mother said. “He’s battling a wildfire in Idaho, and they say it could be weeks before they have it contained. Besides, this is what you do. You’re good at it.”

  “I don’t think so, Mom. I hope you haven’t already told Mrs. Colter I’ll do it.”

  “Of course I did.” Her mother sounded indignant. Then, seeing Rachel’s mutinous expression, she softened her tone. “You can’t refuse, darling. Sharon’s my best friend, and after everything she’s been through, she really needs this vacation. Do it for me. Please.”

  Rachel sighed, her resistance slipping. “Fine,” she finally muttered. She stood up. “But I am not playing nursemaid to the guy. I’ll drive him to his appointments and I’ll run basic errands for him, but that’s it.” She gave her mother a warning look. “And my hours are strictly nine to five. He’s on his own outside of that time.”

  Her mother gave her a falsely sweet smile. “But your website states you’re available twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week.”

  Rachel gave her mother a tolerant look. “That was when I worked as part of a concierge company. They have a staff of four hundred assistants, all over the world. Now it’s just me. Besides, I can’t imagine any kind of scenario where Jamie Colter would require my services after five p.m.”

  “Can’t you?”

  Rachel gave her mother a sharp look, but the older woman’s face was blandly innocent.

  “No,” she said clearly. “I can’t.”

  “Well, what if it’s an emergency? For instance, if he falls down and can’t get up,” her mother clarified.

  “Then what he needs is a medical alert and not a personal concierge,” Rachel suggested.

  Her mother just looked at her, silent.

  “Fine.” Rachel threw up her hands. “I’ll be there if it’s an emergency.”

  “Thank you, darling.” Beaming at her success, her mother gave her a swift hug. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I’ll go tell Sharon; I know she’ll be so relieved!”

  Rachel listened to her mother’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, followed by the slam of the front door. Crossing to the window, she watched as her mother walked the short distance to the Colter house, and rang their doorbell. After a moment, the door opened, and Rachel strained to get a better look. Jamie answered, still wearing the shorts, but now he also wore a bright red T-shirt. She watched as he moved back and invited her mother into the house. Was it just her imagination, or did he glance directly at her window before he closed the d
oor again? Rachel stepped quickly away, not wanting him to see her.

  The thought of being Jamie’s personal concierge for the next two weeks unnerved her, which was ridiculous. She’d managed the personal affairs of countless clients, from millionaires to single moms, and everyone in between. Except for Deke, she’d never had a problem keeping the relationship strictly professional, and she’d never had any issues with her clients overstepping those professional boundaries.

  So why did she have this nervous, fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of doing anything personal for Jamie?

  *

  “Is that even a real thing?”

  Jamie’s father, Alex, looked up from his newspaper to where Jamie leaned against the kitchen counter, a cold beer in one hand.

  “Is what a real thing?”

  “A personal concierge.” Jamie made air quotes with his free hand. “I’m pretty sure you’re all just making this up so I’ll feel better about having a babysitter while you’re on your cruise.”

  His father grinned. “Are you complaining?”

  “No, I’m not complaining. I’m just curious as to what a personal concierge actually does.”

  His father gave a snort of laughter and returned his attention to his paper. “Not what you’re thinking, I promise you.”

  Jamie’s mother chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. Giving her son an amused look, she began setting the table for dinner. “A personal concierge is absolutely a real thing. Rachel even has a website that outlines her standard services and rates.”

  Behind her back, Jamie exchanged a knowing look with his father. “And just what do those services include?” He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. His mother wouldn’t appreciate his lewd humor.

  Setting the dinner plates on the table, she straightened and looked at him, one hand on her hip. “Think of her as your temporary mother while I’m gone. Anything I would do for you, she’ll do for you.”

  Jamie pulled a face. “There you go, Mom, ruining my fantasy. I absolutely cannot think of Rachel McCafferty as my substitute mother.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Not even close.”